


Dust and stitches

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Valinor, kids explore the palace attic, references to Miriel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 14:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12171111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: Prompt: "did you ever clean the attic?"





	Dust and stitches

Irissë sneezed in the dusty air of the crawlspace under the pitch of the roof, sending motes dancing in the shaft of treelight from the slanted window. As she did so, Arakáno hauled himself up through the trapdoor.

She grinned at her little brother as he stood up beside her; there was a large ball of dust caught in his braids which she brushed off, grinning.

Immediately his hands flew up to his head. “What?”

“Spider in your hair!”

He yelped. “Nooooooo! Get it off!” He went quiet at her peals of laughter, sticking out his lip. “Hey! There’s no spider, is there? You’re just being mean again Irissë!”

She ruffled his braids affectionately. “You’re my little brother, so I have to, don’t I? Anyway, that one doesn’t work on Turukáno anymore, so…”

“Still mean.”

“You should just be glad I didn’t actually put a spider on you, little brother.”

He pouted. “If you do I’m telling mother.”

“Fine, go ahead!” she grinned. “But then you’d also have to tell her we got into the summer palace’s attic while grandfather was so graciously hosting us! And we would get told off and I don’t think we’d be allowed back for ages, so… wouldn’t you much rather take a look around here instead?”

He glared at her, pushing out his lip. “…Fine.”

“Yay!” She grabbed his hand and pulled. “Come on, let’s look around this place!” With a flourish, she whipped a sheet off a stack of chests, releasing an impressive cloud of dust. “I bet some of these haven’t been touched since this place was built, right after the Great Journey!”

“Yeah. Turno says up here is where they put all the things that people don’t use anymore but don’t want to throw away, like weapons and stuff.”

“Probably!” said Irissë, opening a box. “Look at this!”

Inside was a truly impressive collection of swords, in a folding wooden rack.

“Wow!”

“And this too!” Opening another box, Irissë had taken out an ornate mask of carven wood. “They used to wear these at festivals to scare off the dark things that lived in the forests.” She put the mask on, turning to her brother and snarling with its contorted face. “Huh? Am I scary?”

Arakáno quailed for a moment, then giggled when she started to tickle him. “Stop it!”

“Ha. You put one on! We can scare Finno and Turno with them!”

“They’d never fall for that!”

“They would. Turno would get angry-scared and run away back to his room to sulk, and Finno would try to defend the family from monsters, like one of the people in grandfather’s stories. I bet they would.”

“Ha, maybe. Ooh, What’s this?”

Arakáno had moved on to a slightly smaller, dustier box half tucked behind the others. “Let’s see?”

She peered override his shoulder and froze, staring.

“…..Ah….Irissë, what…?”

Arakáno gaped at her, confused, as she drew back from the contents of the box with a small gasp. “They’re…”

They were textiles of many bright colours, all neatly folded. But it was not the colour that made Irissë catch her breath but the embroidery; it was exquisitely fine, more intricate than anything she would have thought possible. More so than any she had ever seen before in fact, unless you counted the tapestries that hung in Finwë’s royal antechamber in the palace, and those that were abundant in the house of Fëanáro, which she had visited once or twice.

And that could only mean one thing…

“Míriel…” she breathed, her hand ghosting over the cloth. She almost didn’t want to touch it; it was like touching the unhealed, deepest part of a wound, locked away and covered within their family day to day, but still raw underneath. It felt like something that shouldn’t be seen, almost, and certainly shouldn’t be touched, especially not by her.

She drew her hand back.

“What? What is it?” Arakáno screwed up his small face, reaching out gingerly. “It’s so pretty!”

“Ah…” Of course, he was young, much too young for people to talk about such things around him. She only knew herself because she had not left Findekáno alone until he told her. “It’s something… old” she said. And then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, “it’s…. haunted! You shouldn’t touch.”

Arakáno’s eyes widened. “Haunted? You mean there are ghosts here? Like there were on the Journey?” He looked fearful for a moment, before his gaze turned sceptical. “You’re making that up!”

“No” said Irissë, with feeling. “No I’m not.”

She covered the box over again, hastily, and wondered if it really might be some truth to it after all.

“Come on” she said hastily. “Let’s move on.”

And they did, as the dust settled once more behind them.


End file.
